


half love

by asgardiun



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, M/M, Soulmate AU, im using the term enemies very lightly they're barely enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:42:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25557535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asgardiun/pseuds/asgardiun
Summary: "Time stops in the presence of a soulmate, and will only resume when the two break apart, or look into each other's eyes. With enough distance, time will start again. With a lingering stare, it will feel as though it never stopped."-Of two things, Buck is certain: soulmates are not real, and he hates Eddie.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 53
Kudos: 370





	half love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mediwitch3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mediwitch3/gifts).



> alex yelled at me so i wrote her a soulmate fic. title from _half love_ by red hearse

Soulmates are not real. Of this, Buck is certain. All the stories, every “love at first sight” is just that, a story, a construct, a myth. None of the stories hold reason, it’s a well bound book of scattered, mismatched, lies. The broad tale says time stops in the presence of a soulmate, and will only resume when the two break apart, or look into each other's eyes. With enough distance, time will start again. With a lingering stare, it will feel as though it never stopped. 

It’s rare to find a soulmate, they’re not easy to come by. Such power cannot be handed out so lightly. 

His parents claimed they were soulmates. They divorced before he finished sixth grade. 

He’s been burned before, convinced that if he couldn’t find his soulmate, he could make one. No lingering gaze, no love at first sight, but something to be built. 

The world saw his optimism and sought to prove him wrong. 

He kissed a boy in high school and thought it was love, held hands with a cheerleader and struggled to let go, convinced she felt the same. Nothing ever lasted. He danced between hookups, searching for long lasting intimacy, but was handed fake phone numbers and missed connections instead. Even among the non-believers, nothing seemed to last. 

Abby had a soulmate. She chose Buck instead. Her ex left her, claiming he still loved her, but the word ‘soulmate’ has since left a bitter taste in her mouth. Buck brought her recovery from what could have been. Abby gave him freedom from what never was. 

With her there were no expectations. He could simply exist in the comfort of another without destiny hanging over his head. He thought maybe, just maybe, he could form his own fate, a love that is made _,_ not simply found.

But, as all people do, she left.

She left for Ireland mere days after her mom died, promising she’d return to him. Then time stopped. Or, at least, Abby claims it did, leaving him with an over-the-phone breakup and a lost love. Her soulmate returned, and Buck still didn’t believe such a thing existed.

She took with her the last bit of hope Buck had left. 

Because soulmates are not real. This much Buck knows.

__________

Abby left two months ago. And he’s doing fine. He’s doing just fine. He stayed in her house for far too long, not knowing where to turn. As soon as he found a new option, he cleared out, wanting to leave Abby behind him.

Two months, and he only just found a place of his own. Almost.

(Maddie took the bedroom at the end of the hall. He held no complaints).

The station is loud as he walks in through the garage doors, not a single person stands still. His eyes follow the rapid movement, watching the light reflect off the trucks, B-crew laughing as they swat each other with dirty towels. He borrows a bit of their happiness, letting himself smile at the warmth of the morning. His friends hover at the base of the stairs, filling the space with soft chatter. Bobby glances up just as Buck looks over the group.

“Buck,” he shouts, waving him over to the group, “good, you’re here. There’s someone I want you guys to meet.” He nods towards the locker room, inviting them to follow. Buck looks between Hen and Chimney, they clearly don’t know much more than he does. He gestures one hand out, letting them take the lead.

“Okay, that is a beautiful man,” Chimney points to the locker room as Buck approaches. He stands beside him, both men peering through the glass. 

He’s not wrong. Through the glass stands a man, an incredibly attractive, shirtless man. All the chaos, the ever moving flow of the station, seems to slow in that moment as he watches him. But he catches the logo of his t-shirt, a bright LAFD emblem, and his attraction quickly turns to confusion, before shifting to something else entirely. 

The man looks up for the briefest of moments, and Buck quickly turns his gaze back to his friends, realizing how long he’d been staring. 

“Who the hell is that?” he gestures over his shoulder. It’s more pointed, heated than he intended. The man’s done nothing but exist, and Buck’s already seething. 

“Eddie Diaz, new recruit. Graduated top of his class,” Bobby says, “The guys at station six wanted him, but I convinced him to come here.”

“What do we need him for?” he grumbles, scrunching his face slightly. 

Bobby breathes out, his amusement evident. “The guy was an army medic, won a silver star in Afghanistan,” he says, “he knows what he’s doing.”

The explanation only fuels the stewing hatred. He’s hot, he’s smart, and he’s qualified. A triple threat Buck can’t ignore.

“We already have a team.” It’s a cheap excuse, and nothing will come of it, but he’s searching for flaws where there are none, and it’s all he can manage.

“And now we have a bigger team.” Bobby holds his arms wide, a slight smile tracing his face. “I’ll introduce you guys.”

Hen’s the first person to shake his hand. Her attitude is infectious, her smile spilling into his. He runs his free hand through his hair, but the front piece still falls, curling in front of his face. Eddie laughs as Chimney talks, shaking his hand as well, and he hates him for it. He flows freely with the team, carrying his head high as he speaks, and he hates him for being so seemingly flawless.

Buck can’t bring himself to walk in that room to introduce himself. 

_____

The worst part isn’t that Eddie’s attractive. It’s not his eight-pack abs or the way his hair never falls out of place. It’s not even the soft eyes and warm smile that Buck can’t stop staring at. 

No, the worst part is that he’s good at his job. 

He’s a probie, he’s not _supposed_ to be good. He’s supposed to be decent, ask questions, and learn, yet he hovers over the body in front of them, moving swiftly with Hen and Chimney, slotting himself in with the team of paramedics. He takes the syringe from Buck’s hand and injects it with care and precision, hands pressing gently but with soft determination. 

He ducks his head as the team sings their praises, but still, his confidence radiates. Buck watches him with a careful eye, never straying far. His focus never shifts away from Eddie, searching for some flaw he’s not sure exists. 

“Good work,” he nods, before climbing in the truck, in a half-assed effort to not be a completely terrible person. 

His kind manners don’t last long.

_____

They’re at the gym between calls. It’s midday, usually loud, hectic, constantly shifting, yet the gym is only filled with him, Eddie, and the thumping of a punching bag. He tries to ignore him, center his attention on the bench and the weights he’s lifting over his chest, but all he hears is leather to leather, fists colliding with the bag, and heavy breathing.

“You shouldn’t do that without a spot,” Eddie says, breaking away from the bag for just a moment, still not looking at Buck.

Buck breathes out, almost laughing. “Right, because you just know everything.”

“Excuse me?” He stops punching and turns to Buck, finally looking him in the eye. The silence breaks, conversations suddenly fill the room, masking their own outburst. 

“What’s your deal?” Buck re-racks the bar and stands, moving toe-to-toe with Eddie. “You walk in here, high and mighty, like you own the place. You have no respect for the—”

“Hey Buck, can you—” Chimney walks into the gym, looking back and forth between the two “—what did I just walk into?”

Eddie has the audacity to laugh. “Buck was just giving me a lesson on respect.”

He walks out of the gym, letting them enjoy their joke. He’s pissed, and for no reason he can pinpoint. Eddie’s funny, he’s good at his job, Buck should be aching for a partner like him to work with. Instead he’s bitter, hatred and jealousy swirling together in a cocktail he can’t swallow. 

The alarm rings, as it always does, finding the perfect moment to pull him out of his head and into the truck.

_____

Buck follows Bobby inside the house. It’s filled with war memorabilia, landmines, and enough guns to form a small, vintage army. 

A grenade, he quickly learns. There’s a grenade in the victim's leg, wedged in the tissue from where it detonated in his hand. They move him onto a backboard swiftly, sliding the gurney in the back of the ambulance. 

“Buck, ride the ambulance with Eddie,” Bobby says. He speaks again before he can protest. “That’s an order.”

He looks to Eddie, who’s already connecting him to the monitor and IV. He’s making easy conversation with the patient, keeping him occupied, pulling his head away from the grenade in his leg. 

Buck climbs in and lets Eddie, the 118’s resident army expert, tell him what to do. It’s bitter and tense, but all he can do is keep the patient, Charlie, comfortable and try to ignore the man beside him. 

He asks Charlie, about his life. He talks about teaching, forgotten aspirations, and war. There’s dreams he wanted to follow, but never did, and he lets it all come to light, believing he might die in the ambulance, his last moments spent with two men he doesn’t know. 

“Is there family you want to call,” Eddie asks, “to meet us at the hospital?”

Charlie laughs. It’s hollow and empty. “No, no family. My soulmate died two years ago,” he says, “we never had kids. Maybe it’s best I’m joining her.”

“Nobody’s dying,” Buck says, “not tonight.”

He nods, but his eyes are glazed over, staring at the heart monitor rather than Buck. “Either of you boys have a soulmate?”

He wants to sigh, give his piece, explain that he doesn’t believe, will never believe, because soulmates aren’t real. But that’s not what Charlie needs to hear, so he says nothing, letting Eddie fill the silence. He’s curious as to what he’ll say, if he’d be willing to let Buck peak at this small corner of his life.

“No, no soulmate,” he says, no emotion behind the words. He’s not dejected or bitter, he’s stating facts, nothing more. There’s a story, Buck’s sure, but now’s not the time to pry. 

He doesn’t answer the question, instead lets the steady beep of the heart monitor fill the silence. But he can’t stand the tension, feeling the need to say something, _anything_ at all. 

“So,” he starts, “I guess you’ve seen a lot of shrapnel wounds.”

“My share,” Eddie says shortly, casual, as if it’s easy. Two words, but it somehow brings back the bitterness he tried to avoid

“You ever seen a guy with a length of rebar stuck through his skull?”

“What are we measuring here, Buck?” he asks, looking over to him. “You need to change those dressings,” he points, “they’re soaking through.”

Buck rolls his eyes, grabbing wads of gauze off the shelf. He lifts the old dressings, tossing them aside, but Eddie’s hand stops him from laying the new ones down.

“Hold on,” he grabs Buck’s wrist, looking to Charlie “I thought you said this was a practice round.”

“It is,” he says. Eddie’s eyes go wide, it’s the first time he’s seen anything other than confidence in his gaze. If he’s concerned, then something terrible must be happening.

“Uh, what— what’s going on?”

“You see that cap?” Eddie gestures to the metal embedded in his leg, “Practice rounds have blue caps. Gold caps are live,” he says, pounding on the back of the truck, “Pull over!”

_____

“Buck, you don’t have to do this,” Bobby holds out his hand. Eddie already moved back into the ambulance, lock box in hand and police vest around his torso. They talked through their options, deciding the only way they can save Charlie is to operate on him together in the ambulance. 

“What, and let him have all the fun?” Buck smiles, strapping the vest over his shoulders. “You said you wanted us to bond, we might end up real close.”

_____

Eddie doesn’t look at him as he steps inside the ambulance. It’s quiet, the only sound echoing through the four metal walls is the scuffing of their shoes and the steady huffing of breath. The near-silence is piercing, itching inside his head. He looks to Eddie, the only noise to be found, and steps inside with him, following his lead. He turns away just as quickly as he turned up, focusing on Charlie, who’s already unconscious. 

He doesn’t speak, Eddie doesn’t speak. It’s not a first, but still, it’s unnerving. There’s no conversation, no flow, no steady beeping of the heart monitor to fill the gaps between words. 

There’s no beeping. There’s no beeping…

He looks to the monitor, still turned on, but now frozen at the peak of his last heart beat. Buck checks the wiring, then he checks it again. He holds Charlie’s wrist in his hand, smoothing over the pulse point, but his hand holds stiff in his grip. 

His chest, no longer rising and falling with his breath, lays flat. He’s not breathing. He’s alive, but he’s not breathing. 

Buck double checks, triple checks, every monitor. Every wire, every needle, looking for an answer. Nothing makes sense. Eddie doesn’t speak. Nothing makes sense. 

“Buck,” he hears. He continues moving, searching for an answer that doesn’t exist.

He lifts the gauze, bloody and soaked through, looking for an answer, as if he could find it embedded in the grenade. It’s wedged near an artery, he should be bleeding, dripping with crimson. 

He’s not bleeding at all. 

Streaks run down his leg. The drops never fall. 

He’s not bleeding. He should be bleeding… 

“Buck,” Eddie breathes out, heavier this time, as if he’s testing the name. It’s one word, four letters, but it’s more than he’s said all day, really. He knows what comes next, knows that Eddie sees what he sees, something impossible, something he refuses to believe. 

They’re not soulmates, there’s no such thing.

“Yeah?” he asks, but it’s not a question. There’s no rising and falling of Charlie’s chest, no steady rhythm of his heart, no blood flowing through the open wound. It’s a filler, a bumper for whatever Eddie’s about to say next.

“Whatever you do, don’t look at me,” he says, sounding amused. 

“You think this is funny?”

Eddie tilts his head. “I think the universe has a great sense of humor,” he says, “pairing you off with the one guy you can’t seem to stand.”

Buck reaches for more gauze, trying to clean the not-bleeding wound. “And you’re okay with this?”

“Okay or not, there’s still a grenade in this guy’s leg,” he says, “We should really get it out before the universe decides to prove us wrong.” He grabs the forceps and falls into his own rhythm. 

Eddie’s not his soulmate, he refuses to believe that. It’s the one thing he’s always been certain of, soulmates are not real. His parents were soulmates, they still fell apart. He found love, and still it left him. Abby had a soulmate and she made a choice. Then, she made a different one. People come and go, not because of the grand higher power of fate, but because they choose to leave. 

And yet the blood is no longer flowing through their patient’s leg, the heart monitor has fallen silent, paused at the peak of the last beat, and the watch on his wrist is no longer counting down the seconds before the grenade goes off. Nothing is moving, changing, existing in the way it should except for Eddie’s steady hand, and the quickening beat of his own heart. 

They move in sync, no longer trying to prove themselves to the other. The patient isn’t bleeding out, yet Buck still presses the gauze to the wound, a force of habit, trying to make sense of it all. Eddie works around him, beside him, _with_ him, moving slowly, deliberately, to pull the metal free from the man’s leg. 

He reaches for the lock box as Eddie pulls the grenade free. The world stands still, but he’s still convinced the bomb will drop at any moment, pulling them out of this moment in time. There’s no telling if it will last, if the stories he ignored growing up held any fragment of truth. He trusts Eddie to hold the grenade, but he doesn’t trust the fuse to not spark and blow them to pieces. 

Eddie sets it in the box, still careful, always practiced. Buck closes the lid of the box, and allows himself to look up. 

He’s spent most of his day watching Eddie, but for the first time, he sees him. It’s not hatred bleeding between them, it’s something else, but it’s just as strong. They’re sweating in the back of the ambulance, bomb between their chests, but he’s still looking at Eddie, the steady beat of the heart monitor finally filling the air. 

He lets himself look into Eddie’s eyes, and learns that he’s not so perfect after all— there’s a hint of gold laced between the brown of his eyes. 

“We should—” he holds up the lock box, bringing him back to the moment. Ambulance. Blood. Grenade. 

“—Right, yeah, we should go,” Eddie says, unlocking the gurney. Buck opens the doors, and they wheel the man outside, leaving the box in the car. They hand the patient off, and they’re left standing in the hospital parking lot. Bomb squad rushes toward the ambulance, leaving them alone outside the fire truck. 

“For what it’s worth, you’re a badass under pressure,” Eddie says, looking him up and down.

“Really?” Buck questions, scrunching his face.

“Yeah, you can have my back any day,” he says, extending a hand. Buck’s the last hand for him to shake, the last introduction to be made. He stares at the hand he once watched in anger, and accepts the bridge Eddie’s trying to build. 

“Yeah, or, y’know,” he looks up to his eyes, “you could have mine.”

He takes his hand and shakes it, letting himself make peace with Eddie as a teammate, but still standing tense, avoiding the obvious question hovering over them. 

“Deal,” Eddie says instead, and Buck swells with pride, knowing he’s the one who put that smile on Eddie’s face. 

_____

It’s dark when they return to the station, grey clouds swirling, rain falling lightly, barely splashing. Neither one has addressed the new development looming over their heads. Bobby steps outside the truck, scaling the stairs to the loft, none the wiser. 

Eddie steps out of the truck, leaving the door open for Buck. He removes his headset, but doesn’t follow, opting to stare at the leather seats and metal walls. There’s a moment where he thinks Eddie will step back into the truck, sit beside him. But he’s done nothing to earn such graces. He leaves Buck behind, sitting in the truck, but leaves the door open, giving him the chance to follow.

He left, but he gave Buck a choice, a choice he’s never had the option to make before. He can stay in the truck, stow in the safety of red metal walls, continuing with the same life he’s always lived. 

Or he can follow Eddie. He can follow him, wherever he may lead. It’s not an obligation. It’s not fate or destiny or any other lie the world has tried to sell. 

He doesn’t have to follow, but he does. It’s his choice, but he owes it to Eddie to follow.

Where he went, Buck can’t be sure, but it seems only natural to follow the rain.

It pours heavy on the pavement, pooling in the cracks of the concrete, hissing as the drops bounce and settle in place. The street lights glow, softly flickering, guiding Buck outside the station, leaving him cold, but determined to carry on. 

Distance is the antidote to time. If they stand far enough apart, they’ll never be forced to relive the impossible. But somehow, he’s certain, that won’t be an option. They work well together, and he’s hesitant to admit he enjoys the synchronicity. He has options, but this, facing Eddie, facing the moments that drag too long, is the only path he’s willing to take. 

The alternative would mean giving up, and although he’s stubborn in his beliefs, in the idea that soulmates are not real, ignoring the obvious seems to be a surefire way of letting the universe win. 

He sees Eddie, leaning against the wall, staring into the open space of the parking lot, almost at ease, but still carrying some kind of weight. It’s not a moment he can ignore. The firehouse stands behind him, loud and warm and comfortable, but Eddie stands in front of him, quiet, stoic, with a sense of peace he’d never expect from a soldier. 

They’re distant, separated by fifty feet and the falling rain. Eddie is looking down, having not noticed Buck’s presence, or making a point to ignore it. He could turn back, try and make sense of it all on his own. But his feet carry him forward, stepping through puddles to try and reach him. 

Forty feet away, Eddie’s still looking down. He carries on, solidified in his choice.

Thirty feet away, the rain begins to slow. He looks to the clouds, still grey, still heavy, and laughs at the weight of it all. Of course, even the water would stand still to watch.

Twenty feet away, the puddles barely splash. His boots leave prints in the pavement, water rising up and hovering in the air as he steps. Behind him, the station falls silent, the street lights no longer flickering. They burn steady, still glowing.

Ten feet away, the rain hovers in the air, droplets sticking to his skin, but never wiping away. Eddie looks up, but doesn’t look at him.

He moves closer still, just an arms length away. Their eyes never meet. The rain never falls. 

Buck follows Eddie’s gaze to the horizon, to the wind that’s no longer blowing, to the trees no longer whistling. He joins him in leaning against the wall. It’s silent but it’s sweet. There’s tension hanging in the air but it’s still comfortable. The bitterness, the jealousy that once stewed is softened, and he finds it hard to believe in the peace that washes over him.

“I think I liked you better when you were angry,” Eddie says, ripping away the blanket of quiet. “I don’t know how I feel about silent-Buck.”

“What am I supposed to say to you, Eddie?” he asks. It’s a gentle question filled with doubt and the ever growing fear of ruining something new. He’s never navigated something like this before, something with such potential, forged from hate but settling into something new. 

“Anything,” he says, “anything would be better than this.”

“It’s nice,” Buck blurts out, “the rain, I mean. It doesn’t rain a lot here.”

“Yeah,” he says. It’s an odd bridge between topics. Eddie taps his foot against the wall, letting the noise echo. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Do you believe in all this?” he gestures to the air, rain drops moving as he pushes through them. He avoids the word, the two heavy syllables neither one can bring themselves to say.

Buck breathes out, “No. But it’s hard to deny the proof.”

He shifts, sliding closer to Eddie, still leaning against the wall, neither man daring to turn their head and let the rain fall. 

“I always hoped it was true,” Eddie says, “but I never fully believed it until you showed up. Trying to make sense out of something that makes no sense.” He moves closer, shoulders brushing, skin cold to the touch. 

“I can’t believe,” he whispers, a confession to the open air. “I can’t let myself believe.”

Buck closes his eyes, lets his head fall back into the wall. It’s heavy, too heavy to carry on his own. 

“Look at me,” Eddie says. It’s not a demand, it’s gentler than that. Buck can still turn away, still push back.

He lifts his hand to Buck’s chin, guiding him closer. He doesn’t want to feel it, doesn’t want the proof that it’s all real. It would be easier to pretend it’s in his head, to stay bitter in his heart and never believe. But Eddie’s hand is gentle, warm to the touch, and he lets himself fall into the moment.

He opens his eyes, slowly flickering open, until he meets Eddie’s gaze. It’s golden, it shines. The rain falls, and for once, he lets himself believe. There’s countless scars from all the times he’s been hurt, connections he couldn’t build and bridges he couldn’t bring himself to burn.

There’s no expectations, nothing forcing him to move closer, but he does. He makes the choice to lean in, to fall into the touch, to reach out in return. 

His hand settles on Eddie’s waist, feeling the dry fabric slowly soak with rain. It falls down all at once, splashing against the pavement. The noise of the firehouse fills behind them, but all that exists is this. 

He barely knows Eddie. But he followed him into the rain. 

Eddie’s hand traces his cheekbone, his other hand dropping to Buck’s arm.

“I’m not asking you to believe,” Eddie says, “I’m not asking for some great love story either. I was married before, I have a son at home—”

“—I love kids,” he interrupts. “Sorry, continue.”

Eddie laughs, “And I have a long list of problems I could never expect you to care about.” He looks down, but only for a moment before looking back into Buck’s eyes, “But I’m here if you want to try.”

He’s never been given such care before, never been able to make such a heavy choice, no questions asked. Maybe that’s all a soulmate is, it’s a little bit of trust. He’s willing to give it, he wants to give it…

“I think—” he says, still stumbling through the words, “—I think I’m tired of being bitter.”

Eddie smiles, and everything else melts away, swirls together with the rain, slipping through the gutters. He lets himself lean in, and trusts Eddie to meet him halfway. It’s easy to trust him, it’s hard to believe he ever hated him. He leans in, and Eddie pulls him closer, falling until their lips meet somewhere in the middle.

There’s not a fire or a spark, no explosions burning between them, it’s just rain. It’s not perfect, it takes a moment to fit together just right, but it could be perfect in time. It’s soft. It’s easy. It’s free. They have all the time in the world, after all. 

He falls deeper into the kiss, hands sliding to Eddie’s hips, pulling him closer still. Eddie’s hand slides up his arm, looping around his neck, his other hand holding his jaw, guiding him through the motions. 

Buck holds on as if he’ll disappear, as if he’ll fall away with the wind, as if it’s all a twisted dream. But when he opens his eyes, forces himself to pull back, Eddie’s still there, breathing against his skin, his forehead dropping against Buck’s, as if he’s all that exists. 

It’s a softness he’s never known, contentment he’s never felt. He still doesn’t believe in soulmates. 

But he believes in Eddie. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on tumblr @maysgrant


End file.
